


In the Light of the Day

by Khyeili



Series: Demons and Priests [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Demon!Jean, Fluff, M/M, Priest!Marco, although there will be porn, this is not entirely porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khyeili/pseuds/Khyeili
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if the events of 'In the Dark of the Night' had gone a bit differently...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Light of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! <3
> 
> The idea for this got stuck in my head, and I just had to write it. It's 3am and I have a test tomorrow but I don't even care this is top priority right here. (prolly gonna go back and edit this later but it needs to go up be free my starflower)

He shuffles his feet on the welcome mat, loudly rapping on the door, many more times than strictly necessary.

There are loud footfalls behind the door, as well as some muffled cursing.  A brunette woman opens the door, clearly aggravated.

“Hey, what’s wi-oh my god, _Jean!_ ” she screams, irritation morphing into shocked recognition morphing into utter glee.  She jumps forward, tackling Jean to the ground in a ferocious bear hug.

“Aw Geez Sash, the neighbors are gonna stare.  Can’t risk your picturesque picket fence suburban life, right?”

“I can’t believe it’s you, Jean!  I haven’t seen you in _forever!_ ” she shouts, grasping at his shoulders, as if trying to reaffirm that he’s really there.

“No one’s called me that in a long time…” Jean mutters under his breath.  It’ll take a little getting used to, having a name again.

Sasha stands, brushing off her pants and helping Jean off the ground.  They step inside, Sasha ushering him into the living room.  Connie’s lounging on the couch, staring intensely at the television as his tail curls lazily in the air.

“Dude, are you watching ‘Say Yes to the Dress?’”

“Hell fucking yeah.” He replies, not looking away from the screen.  “This girl’s mom wants her to wear her old wedding dress, but look at that thing!  It looks like it belongs in a coffin, for cryin’ out loud.”

Connie takes a handful of chips from the coffee table and shoves them into his mouth.  He chews for a moment, until realization hits him.

“Holy shit!  _Jean!_ ” He shouts, jumping off of the couch like it was on fire.  He runs to Jean, wrapping him in a tight hug.  “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Jean sits down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.  “I was just passing through.  Haven’t been out and about in a while.”

Sasha grins, revealing her sharp fangs that almost curl over her bottom lip.

“You wanna stay for dinner?”

“Nah, I don’t want to intrude too much.  Might explore the town a bit, freak out a priest or two, whatever comes up.”

Connie slaps him on the back.  “Well, you’re always welcome here, Jean.  I mean it.  As long as you don’t drag anything here still kicking.”

“Oh, please do!” Sasha shouts excitedly.  Connie rolls his eyes.

Jean says his farewells and steps out the front door and starts down the street, heading towards the town center.

Sasha and Connie were friends of his that went way, _way_ back.  They’d decided to settle down in the suburbs with a nice house and a decent backyard to relax and fly under the radar for a while.  Jean smiled to himself.  Their neighbors were pretty damn lucky that Sasha didn’t go after anyone close by, as to not arouse suspicion.

Sasha was a vampire, and one the most insatiable ones Jean had ever met.  In the Medieval era, she had been one of the fiercest and bloodthirsty vampires of them all, slaying and consuming hordes of humans without hesitation or remorse.

Nowadays, she was a chef, and a damn good one at that.

Connie, on the other hand, was your typical run-of-the-mill demon, albeit a bit less inclined towards violence than others.  While he liked chaos as much as the next guy, he tended more towards pranks than inciting madness or burning down villages.

It’s not like they had a guidebook or anything on how to be a good (or bad) demon.

Jean reaches the town center, the warm spring air sweetened with flowers lining the sidewalks.  It’s Sunday morning, so a few of the shops are closed, and only a few stray people are milling about.

As if on cue, the deep, resonating tone of bells ringing fills the center with a thrum of sound.

Jean smirks.

It’s go time.

\---

After most of the churchgoers have found their seat, Jean sneaks in the back, quietly taking a seat in the last pew.

The church is a lot nicer than he expected, honestly.  The ceiling is high and magnificent, light filtering in through the stained glass windows onto the rows of wooden pews.  The whole place feels warm and ancient, filled with old memories and a deep sense of calm.

Not bad, for a church.

The organ music eventually dies down, a final echo fading as the place falls silent.

The priest enters from a side door, clad in a plain black robe and a simple beaded rosary.

Jean’s heart stops.

Or at least, he’s pretty sure it did, but it’s not like he was in any state to check.

He has freckles scattered across his face, swirling patterns of speckles that dance in circles, spreading down his neck as far as he can see before the collar of his robes hide them from view.  His hair is dark and shiny, parted down the middle, flicking a little as he walks.

The priest begins speaking, but Jean can’t understand any of the words.  All he can hear is the way his lips form words, the taste of warmth and kindness in his voice, the feel of his consonants and syllables in the still air.

God _damn_.

\--

After the service, (which he spent unable to tear his eyes away from the priest) he paces the empty hallways, hearing the muffled voices from the floor below.  Jean spends a few moments agonizing over what he should do, before he finally makes up his mind, silently descending the staircase.

He lingers at the doorway, peering into the room, a single table lined with refreshments while the parishoners chatter away with each other.

And there he is.

The priest stands next to the table, speaking with an elderly couple.  He smiles and laughs with them, his eyes crinkling in a way that makes Jean’s heart flutter in his chest.  As the couple turns away to get something to eat, the priest stiffens slightly, and his eyes shift towards Jean.

He jerkily disappears, black furls of smoke darting quickly into the kitchen, where he solidifies with his pulse pounding in his throat.

Fuck.

Jean runs up the stairs and quickly exits the building, a plan already budding in his mind.

\--

He silently approaches the altar, boots making no sound on the wooden floors as he passes the pews, one by one.  The priest stands in the fading evening light, facing the enormous stained glass window that stands grand and imposing before them.

God, he’s hot.

He draws closer and the priest freezes, sensing him before truly hearing him.

Jean smirks, ready to begin.

That is, until the priest growls, “Christo.”

He flinches, letting out a small noise of surprise and pain, stumbling a little in the aisle.

The priest whips around, his arm a blur as he hurls something at him.  Before he’s truly aware of what the _fuck_ is going on, the inside of a goddamn _hula hoop_ hits him in the throat.  He sputters and gags as the hoop falls around him, and he tries to step back but he can’t fucking leave the circle _what the actual fuck_ -

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my church.”

The priest is suddenly right in front of him, holding a pump-action squirt gun aimed at his face.  His eyes are firm and unyielding, his stance indicative of some kind of training, grip tight and arms locked.

Well, mark Jean down as scared _and_ horny.

Realizing that he’s been asked a question (well, more like a demand, but he’s not complaining), he tries to find his voice.

“I-ah, um, I was just−I uh, wanted to-to…ah, well, y’know it’s funny, I was just…” his face grows more and more flushed as he struggles to speak, desperately trying to maintain some kind of composure.  He tries to take another step back, but his foot hits some kind of resistance with a painful jolt, so he quickly retracts it back into the circle.

“Salt in the hula hoop” the priest says.  “And holy water in the squirt gun.  Now, I would suggest that you tell me what you’re doing here.  I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Jean nods quickly, staring at the squirt gun.  He’s gotten splashed with holy water, and it burns like a motherfucker.  He’d rather not deal with that again, if he can.

That is, if he can fucking speak like a normal person.

He clears his throat.

“Hah, that’s pretty clever, with the hula hoop and the squirt gun, really−ah, never met someone so prepared, yeah that’s really cool…um, I’m not trying to wreck havoc on your church or anything, really, I don’t care about that, the people here seem pretty cool y’know especially that old guy who made the brownies−they looked really good, I didn’t stay for any but maybe I could’ve snuck one out−oh god I’m rambling, uh…I just think−um, that y-you’re…uh…”

He can feel his face heating up, and his breath quickens as he tries to speak, choking on his dry throat.  After a moment of silence, he covers his face with his hands.

“Oh god I’m sorry please don’t shoot me I’ll leave you alone, I promise!”

The priest is quiet for a moment, and Jean peeks out at him from between his fingers.  He stares at Jean, eyes narrowed.  Then, a look of incredulous realization dawns on his face, and he grins, hands loosening around the squirt gun.

“You know, saying hi works too.” He laughs, placing the gun down on one of the pews.  “So do flowers.  I like lilies.”

Jean nods so vigorously, he thinks his neck cracks.

The priest picks the hula hoop up from the ground, looping it over Jean’s head and setting it down against one of the pews.

“So what was your plan after you snuck up on me?” the priest asks, leaning against the side of a pew.

Jean rubs the back of his neck and tries to avoid eye contact.  “I was…uh…gonna try to−to seduce you.”

The priest laughs, high and clear, and Jean falls a little bit more in love, even though it’s at his expense.

“Seriously?  Geez, I thought you were going to try to possess me or something, not tell me I had a nice butt.”

Jean blushes and looks away.  He coughs.  “Um, so−uh, could I ask your name?”

The priest smiles.  “Marco.  And yours?”

“It’s−uh, Jean.”

Marco raises an eyebrow.  “That your real name?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just not used to it.  Haven’t really been on the surface for a while.”

Marco hums.  He picks up the hula hoop and the squirt gun, moving to put them away behind the altar.  Jean follows him, plopping down on a pew in the first row.

“Where’d you learn all that stuff anyways?  It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone so−um, well-prepared for someone like me.”

Marco leans against the bannister in front of Jean.  “A couple of hunters came here a few months ago because of a particularly nasty ‘infestation’.  I got involved, so they showed me a few tricks before they left.”

Jean nods.  He’s aware of a few groups of hunters that travel around, exterminating anything that’s stupid enough to make itself too noticeable.  These days, it’s harder to wreck havoc when the government could fucking nuke you.

“So what about you, Jean?  What brought you here?”

He snaps out of his own thoughts with a cough.  “I’m just visiting some friends in the area, wanted to check out the town, do demony things, y’know, the usual.”

Marco laughs again and Jean’s heart aches with affection.

“So seducing priests is what’s all the rage these days?  Guess I should watch my back in case any more cute demons come in.”

Jean’s eyes widen and he gapes at Marco, who simply holds his gaze with a slight smile.  His mouth opens and closes a few times in shock.

Marco finally stands, pulling up the sleeve of his robe to look at his watch.

“Well, I need to finish a few things before I go home for the night.  I hope to see you later, Jean.”

He gives Jean a bright smile and a pat on the shoulder before exiting out the side door and into the hallway.

Jean sits on the pew for a while, watching the fading light paint the chapel with shades of red and gold.  He puts his face in his hands, taking a deep, steadying breath.

\--

“Sasha, he called me _cute!_   What the fuck do I do?!”

“Oh my god, Jean.”

“He’s like, a ten, at least.”

“Jean-“

“He’s got the most adorable fucking laugh in the whole goddamn world, I just can’t handle it, auuuuughhhhh…”

“Jean, we’re trying to watch ‘Kitchen Nightmares’.  You can go another thirty minutes without gushing about your boytoy.”

“He’s not a boy, he’s a fucking _man_.”

“JEAN.”

\--

He lingers by the doorway as the last few people trickle out, picking at his sleeve.  Sasha had teased him for spending an hour agonizing over what to wear, but this was important.  He had spent the past week freaking the fuck out about what he was going to do and what he was going to say, so in the very least, he was going to look fucking amazing while he made an embarrassment of himself.

In the end, he had chosen a dress shirt in a deep, luxurious shade of red, along with his black skinny jeans.  Didn’t want to look like he was trying _too_ hard.

Plus, his ass looks _fine_ in these jeans.

Finally, when he’s sure that the church is empty, he walks inside.  Jean heads down the aisle, taking a seat in the first row of pews, holding the bouquet on his lap.

His leg bounces anxiously as he stares straight ahead, trying not to get too nervous and back out.

A few minutes later, the priest walks in from the side door.  Jean quickly stands up, running a jittery hand through his hair with a cough.  Marco takes a few steps towards him, and he wordlessly thrusts out the bouquet of flowers.

The priest blinks at them for a moment before a wide grin spreads across his face.

“You actually got me flowers?”  He takes the bouquet, examining it with a giggle.  “Oh my god, they’re even lilies.”

The demon blushes, looking away.

God fucking damn it.

Marco brings the flowers close to his face, closing his eyes as he smells the blossoms.

“They’re lovely, Jean.  Thank you.”

Jean looks up, meeting Marco’s gaze.  His heart pounds in his chest.

“You’re−uh, you’re welcome.”  He coughs nervously.  “I liked the−uh, the sermon today.  I−um, I really like hearing your voice.”

Marco laughs breathily, then levels a sultry gaze at Jean.  “I’ll make sure to keep talking, then.”  Jean flushes, gaping at Marco wide-eyed.

The air is heavy and silent, laced with intent, until Marco laughs again, unable to keep a straight face.  The moment is over, and Jean lets out a breath he had been holding.

“Jeez man, you gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Catching me off guard.  Aren’t priests supposed to be chaste and innocent?”

Marco scoffs.  “Don’t know which church you’ve been going to, Jean.”

“Hey, I’m a demon!  I’ve met the _pope_ , actually, I’ve met _several_ popes, I think I’m qualified in understanding the general clergy archetype.”

Marco rolls his eyes.  “Clearly.”  He looks over the flowers again.  “Did you get any brownies this time?”

Jean smirks.  “Hell yeah I did.  They were so fucking delicious, I took like five of them.”

“Mr. Sarraf makes them, he’s a really wonderful baker.  Sometimes he makes cakes for the holidays, and I swear, they’re like an orgy in your mouth.”

The demon stiffens again, stumbling over what he was about to say, only managing a strangled noise of confusion, shock, and frustration.  Marco cackles, covering his mouth with his hand.

“I’m sorry, I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Do you do this to everyone?!”

“No, I just love the look on your face when I do it.  It’s adorable.”

He gently sets the flowers down on the pew, straightening up to look at Jean.

He smiles softly, and something in Jean falls apart.  His heart aches as he follows the constellations of Marco’s freckles across his face, standing out against his cheeks, leading to his smile that somehow conveys through lips and teeth alone that everything will be okay, that he cares, that there’s nothing but here and now and _us_.

Jean barely notices that Marco is leaning in until his lips are brushing against his own, sweet and pliable and _perfect_.

Jean’s heart catches in his throat.

Marco kisses him softly, tenderly, tasting like sunshine and innocence and summer days spent in endless fields of grass stretching on into forever, of promises made in the safety of pillow forts and heavy quilts and he was falling, falling so fucking hard but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He runs his hand up the priest’s arms, slowly, tentatively, until he’s cradling Marco’s face with his hands, moving back to tangle in his hair as their lips slide against each other.

Marco’s hands settle on his waist, sliding down to his hips, gently pulling him closer.

Their lips move together, warm and soft, heated breath shared between them.

Marco pulls away, Jean chasing after his lips, letting out a quiet sigh as he opens his eyes, meeting the priest’s chocolate brown ones.  He looks down at the demon, a smile on his face.

Jean looks up at Marco, the soft light of the afternoon casting a subtle glow onto his skin, and the only thing he can think is, _he’s perfect_.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love Jean being a complete dork and like about 1/3 as smooth as he thinks he is. Also Marco being a badass. I like that too.
> 
> The groups of hunters that Marco talks about can be interpreted as a) Buffy the vampire slayer or b) sam and dean or any other band of demon hunters that crisscross the country doin their thing
> 
> hehe porns on its way but not yet it's the climb


End file.
